


Condolences

by INMH



Series: trope-bingo fanfiction fills 2020 [17]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: (sssssssort of), Angst, Bruises, Canonical Character Death, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Past Violence, Post-Kingsman: The Secret Service, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:39:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27146035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: Sequel to Checking In, post Kingsman. Merlin notifies Harry’s only living kin of his passing.
Relationships: Merlin & Gareth Mallory
Series: trope-bingo fanfiction fills 2020 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848508
Kudos: 14





	Condolences

Of all the people Merlin has had to inform of Harry Hart’s passing, this will likely be the hardest of them.  
  
He wasn’t under the impression that there would be weeping, or howling, or any tears at all; no, what concerned him was that he had very little idea as to what reaction he would receive, or how best to handle it when it came.  
  
Gareth Mallory had never been that easy to read.  
  
But then, neither had his brother.  
  
Frankly, the only discernible resemblance Merlin had ever been able to pin down between Gareth and Harry was their impressive ability to stifle their emotions at the drop of a hat. Beyond that, the brothers (half-brothers? Merlin wasn’t entirely sure, Harry had been tight-lipped about many aspects of his personal life) shared few similarities with one another, in terms of appearance or personality.  
  
Technically, Merlin had known Gareth as long as he’d known Harry, though never as well as he’d known Harry simply by virtue of one brother being a member of Kingsman and the other not. Gareth had trained for Kingsman as well, competing with his younger brother for the position of Galahad; where Harry had been willing to shoot Mr. Pickle, Gareth had been as unwilling to shoot his German Shepherd, Rowley. Even now, Merlin could remember the row the brothers had had on the front lawn of the mansion as Gareth was getting ready to leave.  
  
“ _You shot your fucking dog?!_ ”  
  
“ _Obviously fucking not, or he wouldn’t be fucking alive right now, would he?!_ ”  
  
(The level of enthusiastic profanity that passed between the brothers during their rows had always bemused Merlin, mostly because they swore very rarely when speaking to just about everyone else.)  
  
But _technically_ knowing Gareth for so long did not make breaking the news of his little brother’s death any easier to stomach.  
  
The trip through London was a bit like a ride through a war-zone: There were crashed cars, smashed shop windows, furniture lying broken and destroyed on the sidewalks. At this point it was estimated that all bodies had been removed from where they’d lain after being beaten, stabbed, shot, choked- whatever fate they’d met once everyone around them had gone insane with rage for several minutes.  
  
Gareth’s home seemed untouched. Merlin’s intel suggested that he was home now- he’d been seen leaving MI6 headquarters a few hours ago- but given that he hadn’t gone home for about three days, there was a possibility he was out cold in bed and wouldn’t respond to a knock on his door. Maybe it would be better if Merlin came back later.  
  
 _No._  
  
 _Just do it now._  
  
Merlin sighed, squared his shoulders, and then knocked solidly on the door.  
  
Then he waited.  
  
Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Thirty, forty, fifty-  
  
The door opened.  
  
Merlin went to speak, but then did a double-take, startled; Gareth had a ring of vibrant yellow and brown bruises around his throat. “Jesus Christ, Gareth, what happened to you?”  
  
Gareth paused, cleared his throat (winced a little as he did it, no small wonder as to why), and rasped, “One of my agents,” he croaked. “Had a Valentine phone on him.” He cleared his throat again. “Thank God no one else did.”  
  
“Yes,” Merlin echoed, shifting uneasily in place. “Thank God.”  
  
There was silence for a moment.  
  
A long, uncomfortable moment.  
  
Gareth cleared his throat again, grimacing. “So, is he dead?”  
  
Merlin’s mouth fell open.  
  
“We’ve just had a world-wide catastrophe of insanity and violence, Merlin. Obviously you would not be personally visiting me if Harry were alive and well. If he were injured, you would have just called me instead of stopping by.” Gareth made a face, stepping back and rubbing this throat. “Come in.”  
  
Merlin did.  
  
Gareth’s home had very little decoration; the one consistent adornment around many corners were tightly packed bookshelves. No family photos, no especially unique pieces of furniture or knickknacks- not like Harry’s place, which had subtle but undeniable items that hinted at the interests of its inhabitant.  
  
Its _former_ inhabitant, Merlin should say.  
  
Gareth gestured for Merlin to take a seat in the small living area. He said something, and Merlin frowned. “What?”  
  
The older man sighed, cleared his throat again. “Would you like a drink?”  
  
“No, no thank you.”  
  
“Down to business, then.” Gareth took a seat across from him. “Alright, so how did he die? I assume it was something to do with this.” He didn’t need to elaborate on the obvious.  
  
“Yes,” Merlin confirmed. “Though not quite what you might be thinking. Harry was investigating Valentine, and he ended up in Kentucky on a lead. The long and short of it was that he wandered right into Valentine’s test-run of his signal.”  
  
“And he was killed during the test.”  
  
“No, no, he survived,” Merlin sighed. “But Valentine took him out after he was the last one standing.”  
  
It all sounded so… _Trite_ , considering that Merlin still had vivid memories of the bullet piercing Harry’s glasses, the feed crackling and going black in seconds. But Gareth didn’t need to hear about that; though his expression remained (as predicted) impassive, Merlin didn’t doubt there was pain swirling somewhere below the surface.  
  
“Can I assume it was Kingsman that was responsible for putting a stop to all this?”  
  
The corner of Merlin’s lip quirked up. “Indeed. A significant chunk of the credit goes to Harry’s protégée, as it happens. He alerted us to the danger, and personally ran Valentine through with a razor-sharp prosthetic leg.”  
  
Gareth’s eyes widened. “He _what?_ ”  
  
Merlin waved a hand. “Long story; the bastard’s dead, is what I’m saying.”  
  
Gareth’s eyes rolled shut, and his hand came up to lightly massage his throat. “Sounds like the sort of lad Harry would be proud of,” he rasped.  
  
Merlin’s heart sank. “He _was_ proud. Eggsy’s a good lad.”  
  
They sat in silence for a few minutes. As his eyes roamed the room, Merlin saw a handful of vinyl albums arranged neatly on one of the bookshelves. A sorrowful, surreal robot’s face was visible on one, and it sparked a memory: He recalled Harry carrying one such Queen album back at the height of the band’s popularity, and asking what the alum was for. “Catching up on pop culture then, Harry?” he had asked, only for Harry to inform him (with a small, but nevertheless mischievous smirk) that his brother’s birthday was coming up and Gareth absolutely _despised_ Queen. The albums were bought with the express purpose of aggravating the living fuck out of his older brother.  
  
Merlin huffed a little laugh, which seemed to snap Gareth out of the silence he’d sunk into. “Was, ah,” he cleared his throat, coughed a bit. When he spoke again, his voice was somehow weaker and raspier than before. “Did you get his body?”  
  
Merlin’s mouth flattened to a grimace. “I’m afraid not. Valentine must have taken it, possibly disposed of it for one reason or another.” A beat. “I’m sorry, Gareth. I wish I had more for you.”  
  
Gareth raised a hand, a _no, no apologies needed_ sort of gesture. “I understand. Nature of the job.” So casual, but yes, he _did_ know the nature of the job: Bodies were not always recoverable. Gareth remained unreadable, coping with the news of Harry’s death rather well. But then, given that he’d been beaten and was currently on the verge of falling asleep, maybe he simply didn’t have the energy for any greater reaction.  
  
Maybe it was selfish, but Merlin hoped that he wouldn’t be around if and when any greater reaction came.  
  
“Obviously there are worldly possessions.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“I’ve no idea what Harry has or if it’s anything you want, but it’s there. Although,” Merlin pulled his jacket open, unfolded a copy of the will Harry had left on file with Kingsman. “He amended his will not so long ago, left his house to Eggsy. I’ve not informed him yet.”  
  
Gareth shrugged. “Fine by me, although it seems an insufficient reward for quite literally saving the world.” Merlin had expected that- he had his own house, so Harry’s would have held no appeal.  
  
“Oh, don’t you fret, Eggsy’s been rewarded in other ways.” Merlin had gotten just enough of a look before he’d cut the feed to Eggsy’s glasses in Valentine’s hideout to know that Princess Tilde had given him _quite_ the reward for his heroism. Harry’s house was a bonus, a pleasant reminder of Harry’s affection and faith in him. “I can introduce you two, if you like.”  
  
Gareth nodded slightly. “Perhaps when I’m capable of holding a conversation without sounding like a chain-smoker,” he croaked.  
  
Merlin smiled slightly. “If you like.” He hesitated, and then stood. “Well, now, I assume you’re exhausted, so I’ll not keep you any longer.”  
  
“Sure you don’t want a drink?” Gareth asked, getting to his feet with visibly more effort than Merlin had required. “I personally won’t be going to bed until there’s more alcohol than blood in my veins.”  
  
Merlin snorted. “You’ve earned your alcohol-induced coma, but I’ll have to pass. I’ve got a lot to sort through at headquarters. We had… Some… Losses. Other losses.” He’d stumbled through those last words, because he’d realized far too late that he was driving dangerously close to the barrier of what was acceptable to discuss with Gareth. He was not a member of Kingsman, and even in times of emergency there were limits on what Merlin could disclose to him; similarly, Harry had remarked on more than one occasion that Gareth was appropriately tight-lipped when it came to his own work in the government, regardless of the office.  
  
They were well aware of the tightrope they walked when it came to professional boundaries- especially considering that Kingsman’s activities, at their kindest, could be very easily and rightfully described as vigilantism.  
  
But Gareth merely shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll pull through. Kingsman is not an agency easily stamped out.” He led Merlin to the door, hesitated with his hand on the handle. “But,” Gareth said quietly, the hoarseness of his voice making him almost inaudible, “If you or- Eggsy, was it? If either of you needs the sort of help I’m capable of providing, give me a ring.”  
  
Merlin paused. Then he said, “And if you need anything, you know where and how to find me.” He reached out and clapped Gareth’s shoulder, and the older man returned the gesture with a weary smile.  
  
“Good night, Merlin. We’ll talk again soon.”  
  
“Indeed we will.”  
  
Merlin stepped outside, down the stairs, and paused briefly to glance back at Gareth. The door was already half shut, but in that thin moment before it clicked shut he saw Gareth running a hand through his hair, posture different- slumped, maybe?  
  
It was only a glance.  
  
Merlin sighed. If he could do more, he would.  
  
For now, the best he can do is walk away and let Gareth get some sleep.  
  
-End


End file.
